An Old Foe
by whitetiger91
Summary: When Ernie and Seamus lie on their resumes, the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures wants them to track down a Banshee. Instead, they find something much, much worse.


_**A/N: This rather cheesy story was written for the International Wizarding School Championship forum (a highly recommended forum!); specifically for the World Wizarding News' Grammar School.**_

_**School: Mahoutokoro School of Magic**_

_**Year: Part-timer**_

_**Technique: Dashes (em-dash, en-dash, hyphen) (I tried to use as many examples from the newspaper as possible)**_

_**Word count: 967 words (written on Google docs, using +10% leeway)**_

_**Additional notes: I apologise for the state of this. It's probably borderline crack, but I've wanted to explore the concept as a story after writing the idea briefly for a newspaper article. Thank you for reading! :) **_

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**An Old Foe**

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Ernie said, jumping as a twig snapped underneath his foot.

He pulled his travelling cloak tighter around himself and turned to his companion. He noticed that Seamus was also shivering, and something told him that it wasn't simply due to the light evening breeze.

"B-because—ahem—because it's our job," the sandy-haired man replied, his knuckles white around his wand.

Ernie regretted lying about his bravery on his resume. If he'd known working for the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures meant he'd have to track down a creature worse than a Chimaera, he'd have gone down a completely different career path.

"Are they sure it's a Banshee? It couldn't just be some Muggle kids having fun, could it?"

Seamus shook his head, his eyes darting around them. "No, the witch who reported it said it was definitely a Banshee. She swore its cries cracked every single glass goblet in her cupboard—she sent in fragments this morning—as well as her best copper cauldron."

"Oh."

He paused at a worn sign on the path, trying to make out its faded lettering:

**Tinker Tott's Cafe**

**Open 10am–5pm**

**Monday–Friday**

His eyes trailed up the winding dirt path to a wooden hut perched atop the hill. Many of its windows were cracked and dirty, and the exterior shutters lining them hung off their hinges. The bare trees around it swayed in the wind, casting ominous shadows across the hut's broken tiles. He certainly couldn't imagine the hut ever being a place where delicious cakes and tea was served.

"W-we couldn't just head to the Leaky Cauldron and grab a few Firewhiskys, could we? Pretend we solved the p-problem?" he asked, aware that his voice was becoming just as shaky as Seamus'.

He tore his gaze from the hut and gave Seamus a hopeful smile. The man's foot hesitated on the path, and he was sure he was about to turn around.

"I suppose a break won't hu—no." He straightened his shoulders, his jaw set with determination. "No, it's time to be brave. I've faced a Banshee before, I can do it again."

"Yeah, as a Boggart." He snorted, but he quickly followed him.

The darkness pressed in as they made their way to the hut's front door, the full moon their only light source. Before Ernie had a chance to pull on the ornate brass knocker, however, Seamus threw out his hand to stop him.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That!"

Listening closely, Ernie heard a strange yowling sound. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Is that—"

"_Riaow!_"

"Ahhhhhhh!"

He wasn't sure who screamed the loudest, but as a mottled-grey cat streaked past, he found himself clutching Seamus. The pair quickly disentangled themselves, their cheeks red as they fixed up their cloaks. Ernie could hear his heart pounding in his ear as he looked around to see where the cat had gone.

"Ju-just a cat," Seamus said. "Nothing to worry ab—"

"Shhhh!"

The pounding in his ear hadn't stopped, but another eerie sound had met Ernie's ears. Backing away from the door, he glanced over at a window to the left. A soft yellow light was glowing inside the foggy windows, illuminating a silhouette. Peering closer, he saw a thin figure was hunched over, long hair swishing back and forth. Amidst what sounded like rushing water came a high-pitched wailing.

"Ugh, it's awful!" Seamus said, clapping his hands over his ears. "I think we found our Banshee."

Ernie nodded. "Probably bathing in the blood of its victims."

Although he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heels and run, he knew that they had to do their job.

"On the count of three?"

Ernie nodded. "One—"

"—Two—"

"—Three!"

Shouting together, the pair took out their wands and barged through the front door.

It gave way immediately, and they stumbled into the foyer. Neither had any time to note that the hut was much cleaner on the inside—the highly-polished floors gleamed beneath their feet, reflecting the image of the shackles hung on the wall—as a scream of rage hit their ears.

"People! People in my hut!"

Goosebumps erupted all over his skin as a figure came gliding into the room, a thin, pale finger pointed at them. He raised his wand, ready to strike, as he took in the creature's bright green face. His voice left him and his arm began to tremble.

It wasn't a Banshee—it was something much worse.

"What are you doing in here? Can't I get some peace and quiet in my retirement?"

Ernie stared at Seamus, seeing the man's mouth open and close. "Filch?" he said, finally forming a word.

Turning back to the figure, he saw the former caretaker adjust the towel around his body. Filch leered at them, causing the drying mud mask on his face to crack a little.

"Well? What's the meaning of this?"

Seamus found his voice again. "We—we thought there was a Banshee here…"

"Eh?"

The sandy-haired man turned to him for help. Ernie shrugged and said, "We were sent because there was deadly shrieking…"

Just like it had when they were school boys, Filch's jowl quivered. "There is nothing wrong with singing in the shower."

"Yes… well… we'd better be going," Ernie said, nudging Seamus.

He'd finally noticed the shackles on the wall. Now that they'd graduated, he wouldn't put it past the man to make good on his old threats and use them. Seamus followed his gaze, and with a squeak, slowly backed out of the hut.

Neither of them spoke as they sprinted down the path, slowing down only when they were well outside the village. Ernie turned to his companion, clutching a stitch in his side.

"Firewhisky?"

Seamus nodded. "Definitely."


End file.
